Articles

My first time visiting my mother’s country I’m eight and she finds me in the street counting the stars because Moca has more than Montauk and these stars are strung to my anchor-heart. She says we all have a star and if you count your star you die. I keep counting and she stops finding …

The severed deer leg said red, as if red were something to be said. My head fell off and rolled over the mossy embankment. I followed, my neck austere and cold and salmonberry-covered, running with a colored orange and the yellow sun coming up over the edge of the canyon though we could not see …

on a tuesday evening in brooklyn they burned my grandmother alive struck her across the face and set her clothes ablaze their footsteps and their laughter rang out through the city streets as the flames licked at her skin and her hair and in immolation she became holy symbol alight in protest of the indignities …

Kai spots the sign first: “Manila Wash.” I pull our U-Haul onto the shoulder of I-40, a welcome break from Kai’s assurances that I too will love Santa Fe. I step outside to find not a stream, or even a creek, but a strip of pale, cracked earth and patches of yellowed brush. “You’re right!” …

after Ocean Vuong I remember your car lighter. I remember your car lighter’s orange tip igniting the cigarette at your lips. I remember your breath thickening the cabin air. Back then you smoked every drive home. I remember the smoke replacing words, explanations, like why you were always the one who picked me up from …

Survival Strategies by Tennison S. Black (University of Georgia Press, 2023) Tennison S. Black’s poetry collection Survival Strategies (University of Georgia Press, 2023), selected by Adrienne Su as the winner of the National Poetry Series, bristles with the sound, texture, and experience of life in the Sonoran. Black digs up roots, tenderly dissecting the speaker’s …

you say fuck me so loud you swallow the sounds from next door my fingers slide into your clit soaking my grandmas body stopped two hours ago & yours arches towards me it is almost ontological my calloused palms melt into your waist & i squeeze my grandmas waist wasting away you breathe my name …

the scout master called my father says and i can tell by the switch in his throat that this is the night he will die we head to church an hour before the troop meeting master waits for us outside watches as we stomp through unkempt oklahoma grasses no one’s bothered to mow down now …

Winner of the 2023 49th Parallel Award for Poetry I want to fit something here about how my father used to console me—told me I was a poor thinker because, when I was a baby, I got so smart so fast God placed a worm in my ear to eat my wisdom. Balance me out. …

I’m sitting at the dining-room table, kicking my bare feet. A fairy-tale feast I’m not allowed to touch is spread on the table in front of me. There are pyramids of pastel macarons. They’re made of plaster, but the Followers don’t know. There are peonies in a glass jar and tiered pink plates of doll-sized …